A Hero By Any Other Name
by BeyondTheIllusion
Summary: The Heroes encounter a German deserter, and there is more to his story than meets the eye.
1. Chapter 1

A Hero By Any Other Name

My first go at any type of FanFiction. Please review!

Chapter 1: Benedikt

A man in a tired and worn German uniform ran like hell through a dense forest under a starless, black night. His black curls were held to his forehead by sweat, despite the biting cold of the winter. He hadn't stopped running in quite some time. Close to an hour, at the very kindest, and he was forgetting how to breathe, though he knew that if he stopped running, that would be taken care of for him, and quite quickly. He was Benedikt Zimmermann, a young man of around or more than thirty years, already with a story that would shock generations to come. And the scrolls were still being written.

Benedikt was born to Werner and Else Zimmermann, near Heidelberg, Germany, in August of 1913. He was the only child and adored by his mother, but in her good nature, she had inadvertently given him very little freedom. Benedikt was as sheltered as they came, but with good reason. When little Benedikt was three years old, his father Werner bled to death at the Somme. Benedikt grew up in the shadow of the memory of a true war hero, in his adoring eyes. And he grew up loving his Germany, and would fight to the death for his fatherland. So at the breakout of World War Two, he enlisted in the infantry immediately. Private Benedikt Zimmermann of the German Army firmly believed that the war was about nothing less than the future of his country. He enlisted full of zeal and patriotism, ready to fight and defend, whatever the cost.

He did this with full knowledge of the tension in his country. For all of his life, Benedikt and his mother lived next door to Hans and Gretel Becker, an older couple married forty five years. Benedikt always admired the Becker's; he hoped to one day follow in their footsteps of faithfulness and devotion. When Benedikt was a young child, he would always wander into the Becker's small office, right below their apartment. Hans Becker was a skilled tailor, a profession which interested Benedikt greatly. Benedikt would chat with Becker, sometimes for hours, about the trade, about the business, and about anything that came to mind. Hans was something of a Grandfather to Benedikt. Maybe even a father, seeing as how Benedikt grew up without one. Around four o'clock on most afternoons, Gretel Becker would find her husband and the schoolboy talking about anything and everything. "Hans!" She would always exclaim, in a loving, joking way. "You've bored young Benedikt enough with these stories of your childhood!" Benedikt would always laugh and say, "But I'm not bored, Frau Becker!" Then Gretel would usher Benedikt upstairs to their apartment and feed him freshly baked cookies and pretzels. The fact that the Becker's were Jewish didn't deter him. He was the child they never had, and he was their joy.

Else couldn't have been happier that Benedikt had bonded with the Becker's. She lived in constant stress, working long hours in the towns ammunitions factory throughout the twenties, to get Benedikt through school. Maybe even send him off to college. Benedikt was bright, and showed more potential than most young boys. Through the lens of a mother, at least. She worked tirelessly, day after day, and eventually did send Benedikt to the University in Heidelberg, where he excelled, but was unsure of his future. When he finished at the University, he found himself back home. Not long after, Hans Becker offered Benedikt a job as his personal assistant, which he heartily accepted. As the thirties progressed, however, anti Semitic thoughts became more and more popular. Benedikt had never really understood the government's ideas about the Jews as a people, and their actions against them, but was certain all of that would calm down as soon as Germany won the inevitable war.

When Benedikt was in his teens, he took to attending the Lutheran Church near his home just outside Heidelberg. While his mother was rather indifferent to the church, she allowed Benedikt to do as he pleased when it came to religion. "You will choose your own paths in life," she would say. "Who am I to stop you?" And she didn't. In the late thirties, Else became very interested and supported of the new Nazi regime. "They'll make Germany great again, Benedikt. You'll see." At the time, Benedikt had no reason to doubt it. And so when Benedikt enlisted in early 1940, she was overjoyed.

As Benedikt ran with all his might, he thought of himself just a few short years ago, working hard at the fine stitches in new, clean suits with Hans Becker. It all seemed so distant. How could so much change so fast? How could the whole world fall into hell in just a few years? He didn't know, but it had happened. And there was no changing it. So there was nothing more he could do. He jumped over train tracks, almost having tripped over them, and heard the faint whistle of a train in the distance. He kept running.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Colonel Hogan watched the train tracks from a safe distance, filled with anticipation. The men surrounding him—American Sergeants James Kinchloe and Andrew Carter, French Corporal Louis LeBeau and English Corporal Peter Newkirk—shared his anticipation. Demolitions expert Andrew Carter had masterfully put together several dozen powerful sticks of dynamite, and the rest of the group had set them on the tracks a half hour before. When the train crossed over the dynamite, they would set it off. Carter himself was doing the honors that night.

"Here it comes. Now, Colonel?" Carter asked eagerly.

"Not yet Carter…give it about thirty more seconds." Hogan replied with a slight smile. Carter, although sometimes easily confused, had the energy, curiosity, and excitement of a dozen four year old children. He was invaluable. "Alright Carter…now."

The train went up in a ball of fire and a very loud bang. The men bent down and covered their ears, but looked up quickly, surveying their work. They were thrilled, and the exhilaration was obvious from their faces. The sabotage job had gone flawlessly. Carter, Newkirk, Kinch and LeBeau wanted to stay a few more minutes to enjoy their work, but Hogan noted that it was already after two in the morning. He wanted them to get some sleep before roll call the next morning. So the group started back to Stalag Thirteen, their base of operations. They moved quickly and silently in the darkness.

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Benedikt heard something explode behind him. He looked back in shock to see that the train he

had heard a few minutes before been blown up. His first thought was one of relief—he could very easily loose the Gestapo chasing him now. He was pretty sure they had not yet cross over the tracks. Heck, if he was lucky, maybe they even got caught up in the explosion! Benedikt didn't hang around to find out. He kept going, to where, he didn't know, but someplace safe. He laughed at himself inwardly. _Someplace safe? You are living in fantasy land, Benedikt. _But there was nothing more he could do. After another few minutes, he was quite certain that he'd lost the Gestapo. He came to a small clearing where he slowed himself to a halt, and gasped for breath, panting and bent over.

The next thing he heard was a branch snap. His head shot up, and he put his hand on the rifle he had managed to keep by his side during his run from the Gestapo. He slowly turned 360 degrees, squinting in the darkness, trying to make out figures and shapes. Then something happened that he didn't anticipate. He felt the barrel of a gun pressed against the back of his head. Benedikt thought he was a dead man, that the Gestapo had found him. He silently cursed himself for stopping.

"Alright, Fritz, hands up and turn around, nice and slow." Benedikt felt a flash of confusion. The voice was speaking English in an American accent. Who was this man? Suddenly, someone grabbed his rifle from behind, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. This left him defenseless and terrified. His only option was to raise his hands slowly and turn around. He saw five men, wearing dark clothes. They had black paint on their faces, from what he could tell. Another man spoke.

"What are you doing running around this time of the night, you ruddy Kraut?" The accent was British. Benedikt needed time to decode his words, and didn't answer. They must have seen him run into the clearing. The first man's gun was still pointed at his face. This man glanced at the other, the one with the British accent. 

"We'll do that later. Let's go." The first man spun Benedikt around, keeping the gun to his head and a hand on his arm. They began moving through the forest, with definite direction.

Benedikt took a risk and a deep breath. He spoke. "You must let me explain…"

"Shut up." The first man, the one with the gun and clearly the leader, cut him off in an angry whisper. They stopped moving. "I'm ordering you not to say another word. You talk and you'll face unpleasant consequences. Understand?" Benedikt, thoroughly shaken, nodded his head. "Good. Walk."

Benedikt's mind was racing. What had training told him to do in case of capture? Try to escape? Fight to the death? He couldn't remember. But given his circumstances, he didn't really have to. His own army wanted him dead. Why fight the other side any longer? There was no reason to. But the only thing that held Benedikt back was that these were allies. According to German propaganda, they were vicious, and would torture him for information. They would torture him even if he gave it. Americans, The British, Frenchmen…they were all monsters. According to German propaganda. And that was all Benedikt really knew of them. He figured his best shot at survival from all ends would be to cooperate any way he could. _Help them? Become a…a traitor? _Yes, become a traitor. It was the only viable option. A year ago, the thought would have disgusted him. But so much can change in a year.

_And just when I thought tonight couldn't have gone any better. _Right behind Benedikt, Colonel Hogan was very annoyed. Everything had worked without hitch, and he had hoped they would run into no complications. And he was, of course, very tired. Capturing a German soldier meant somebody definitely wouldn't get to sleep any time soon. _Somebody. _Hogan rolled his eyes. He knew what that meant.

Behind him, Newkirk was convinced he would catch his death of cold that night. _Why is this shirt so ruddy thin? It's as thin as…well…something notoriously thin! _He tried not to think about the fact that he had tailored the shirts they were wearing, and the fact that Stalag Thirteen was still another twenty minutes or so away. Possibly more.

Carter, in his silence, was his usual, cheerful self. His thoughts were not on the cold, and so he barely felt it. _Boy, what a job tonight! That was one of the biggest blasts I've ever seen!_ _What would these guys do without me? _He smiled to himself.

LeBeau was imagining his warm bed and soft sheets back at camp. This thought was disturbed by the lumpiness of his mattress and how uncomfortable the bed was in general. He frowned slightly. Kinch was lost in his own world, trying to imagine what his next job would be. He didn't always get to go out on missions with the rest of the group, so he was enjoying it. Kinch was also wondering what the story was with their new prisoner. This one didn't seem quite like the others, somehow. He didn't really know. But they would all soon find out.


	3. Chapter 3

Hi everyone! Thanks for the lovely reviews, support and all around help. I have a feeling, unfortunately, that the whole story will end up something of a mess. But, I'll do my best to please myself and all of you. Besides, the world won't stop spinning :)

_I don't own any character from Hogan's Heroes. I did, however, create the central character (Benedikt) and several others. _

Here you go!

Chapter 3

_November 1938_

"It's alright, Gretel. It'll be alright. We will get through this, I promise you." Hans Becker comforted his wife, who was shaking and crying. They sat in the middle of their office near Heidelberg. Benedikt heard this as he came into the office from the connection to the apartments at the back of the store. At first, he didn't notice the damage. The back of the store had been spared, but as Benedikt advanced to where Herr and Frau Becker were sitting, he found himself having to jump over shards of broken glass.

Hans Becker turned to Benedikt. He had a deep, vertical gash from his right eyebrow to his hairline. Beside him, there was almost no part of Gretel's face that wasn't covered in a darkening bruise. Benedikt gasped.

The night before, Benedikt's sleep had been disturbed by screaming, smashing and pounding. However, he didn't move from his bed. He tried to ignore all the noise and get back to sleep, figuring it was nothing and would be over quickly.

Hans and Gretel Becker's night had transpired differently. The aging couple had been dragged from their beds and forced onto the street, along with another man who lived a few apartments away named Max Schroeder, and a family from down the street, the two parents and their teenage children. Immediately Hans knew. They were all Jewish. He held onto Gretel tightly for as long as he could before the two were separated. For the next two hours they each went through hell, not knowing where or what was happening to the other.

Hans was forced to scrub the street, 'until it was clean.' There was no point to this work. It was simply for the amusement of the men who had forced him from his home. Max Schroeder, an acquaintance of Hans, was told to do the same a few yards away. He adamantly refused, and was subsequently shot point blank in the head.

Hans cried out. "What did you-" The butt of a rifle to his forehead cut him off. He fell back onto the pavement in agony and shock. He worked in silent submission from then on.

It was all over when the tormentors seemingly grew tired of the terror they were causing and wondered off. When he was sure it was safe, Hans pulled himself up and frantically looked around for Gretel. He found her quickly, lying in the mud to the side of the road, having been kicked in head and neck repeatedly. She was conscious, but her breaths were sharp and forced. He helped her back to their apartment.

They fell into their bed exhausted. The next morning, the couple went back downstairs to survey the damage to the office. The front window had been smashed in; there was nothing left of it. The glass littered the front of the office. Shelves had been knocked over, and papers and files were scattered about. Gretel held it in for as long as she could. But then she saw Hans's sewing machine. For months five years before, Gretel had saved up her own money to buy Hans a sewing machine to replace the old one, which was falling apart. But as she stared at it now, completely smashed in, damaged beyond repair, she could do nothing but sit down and cry, without relent.

Hans looked at Benedikt. "I don't think you should work for me anymore."

Benedikt wanted to argue, but found himself nodding in understanding.

Kristallnacht hadn't spared Hans and Gretel Becker.

The following few days were slow for Benedikt. He tried not to think about what had happened. He heard rumors that similar events had occurred throughout Germany, and even beyond. But he was certain, convinced even, that all of that, the treatment of the Jews, was bound to calm down soon. Eventually. It certainly wouldn't escalate any further than it already had. But Benedikt was now out of a job, which was his first priority.

One day, when Benedikt came back to his and his mother's apartment after spending the day trying (and failing) to find a new job, he found a piece of paper nailed to the door, crisply folded. He tore it from the nail and opened it.

_Ich weiß dass du für die Schweine arbeitest. _

_I know that you work for the swine. _

The note wasn't signed. Benedikt rolled his eyes, entered the apartment, and tossed the note into the garbage. _Obviously, whoever you are, you know nothing, _he thought to himself. He hadn't worked for the Becker's in days. Weeks, even. But then he had a new thought. The word 'schwein,' highly offensive in the German language, hadn't fazed him. He knew immediately that it referred to the Becker's. Because they were Jewish, it was quite simple. Had Benedikt really become that indoctrinated to these now ever popular ways of thinking? The thought disturbed him.

Someone was threatening Benedikt. He almost expected it. He was actually surprised it didn't happen sooner. But in the following weeks, nothing else happened. It was just the note, that one time, and nothing else.

In July of the following year, the still jobless Benedikt left Heidelberg for three days. He traveled south to the city of Stuttgart to meet with a potential employer. When he returned, the Becker's were gone. He didn't notice it at first. Benedikt didn't go into their office anymore. It had been all boarded up since that night in November, and hadn't reopened.

Two nights after Benedikt returned from Stuttgart, late in the evening, he went into the small living room in the apartment. He found his mother sitting on the sofa, reading a newspaper, deep in thought. He asked her, "Have you seen the Becker's recently? I haven't seen them since I got back. How are they?"

Else didn't look up from the newspaper. "They're gone."

Benedikt looked at her. "What do you mean, 'they're gone'?"

Else shrugged and looked up. "I mean they're gone. They left. I don't know where. But Gretel stopped by the day after you left. She said they were going right then and to tell you they'll miss you. I guess I forgot."

His mother's indifference appalled him.

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Gretel Becker had wanted to leave Germany since 1933. She was convinced that terrible things were going to happen to Jews because of this new young politician, and sometimes went days without sleeping. Hans wanted her to be at peace, but he also wanted to take their best interest as a couple into consideration. His work as a tailor was really taking off, and it wouldn't fiscally make sense to immigrate.

Six years later, at the Swiss border, Hans wished that he had yielded to his wife's wishes. His heart pounded as they approached the German soldier stationed at the border. He gripped Gretel's hand tightly and handed him their papers. The soldier glanced down at the papers and back up at the Becker's for what seemed like an eternity. It was a good forgery, Hans was sure of it. Else Zimmermann, their neighbor and friend who had experience with such things, had created the fake papers herself. She had forged many papers before for other friends. Therefore, Hans and Gretel were certain they would be granted admission to Switzerland.

The soldier's already thin eyes narrowed. His face grew cold. Despite the cool, soft wind, beads of sweat formed on Hans's forehead.

The soldier opened his mouth to speak. Time stood still.


	4. Chapter 4

_Hi! Here's the next chapter. Just to be clear, all dialogue that occurs between Germans is in German, but most is written in English for the sake of convenience. I hope you like it! Please review, any help is greatly appreciated. _

Chapter 4

The tunnel was damp and cold, as always. Hogan had sent Newkirk, Carter, LeBeau and Kinch up to get some sleep, and desperately wished he could do the same. But not with a complication like this.

Hogan was furious with himself. He was beginning to realize that there was no way in hell that they _needed _to take this random German soldier prisoner. He had no idea why he was convinced earlier that they would be seen by him. Had the group just stayed low and quiet, everything would have been fine. _Nothing I can do about it now, _he thought miserably.

Benedikt hadn't had a single rest in hours, and despite the discomfort of being tied to a chair underground, he could have felt worse. His eyes were heavy weights, but Benedikt resisted their closing. He didn't dare sleep. Not yet…not until he was sure everyone was gone.

Hours seemed to pass in Benedikt's mind. A fleeting thought that he could be executed at any time passed through in his mind, but he pushed it away quickly. _Keep it together, Benedikt. _

He forced his mind elsewhere. The events of the last few days were fresh in his memory, and he couldn't help but reflect upon how he'd ended up here.

It had all started two days before.

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The war had been good to Benedikt, or at least as close as you could come to "good" in a war. The unit he'd been assigned to in 1940 hadn't seen much action. They mostly skipped from town to town throughout Germany and France, helping where needed. They would relieve guards at an occasional Prisoner Of War camp, but not much more than that. Although Benedikt was glad to be out of harms immediate way, he was still a little disappointed that he'd hardly seen any combat. He felt useless.

One slow December day in 1943, Benedikt was roaming around the camp where his unit was staying. They were stationed near Weimer, Germany. There was really nothing to do but wander. Benedikt glanced up at the bare trees surrounding the camp. Autumn was over, and the beautifully colored leaves of fall were gone. Benedikt had mixed feelings about winter. It was a time of death. But, winter always gave way to spring, and all the life never failed to return. Benedikt lost himself in these thoughts as he roamed around the camp.

"Benedikt!" Benedikt snapped back from his thoughts into reality. He searched for the source of the voice. "Ben!" It called again.

Benedikt saw Heinrich Drexler, his best mate, leaning against a building a few meters away, arms folded, smiling like crazy. His distinct blonde hair and blue eyes glistened in the sunlight. His ever jovial personality matched. When Benedikt finally looked over at him, he exaggeratedly waved his arms through the air. "Well it's about time! I've been trying to get your attention for the past hour!" Benedikt smiled back, and ran over to his friend.

"Heinrich!" They both sat down, leaning against the building. "You must have just gotten back! How was leave?"

"Just wonderful, mate. Did I miss any action?" Benedikt rolled his eyes and shook his head. Heinrich smiled again and said sarcastically, "Pity. With my luck all the fun will start now!"

The two talked for a few minutes, catching up on the recent events of the unit. Benedikt asked Heinrich all about his leave, and Heinrich didn't hesitate to describe it in detail. Benedikt hadn't had a leave in over a year and a half; the particularly action-less unit didn't give out very many, but he was very happy his friend had gotten a break.

Benedikt and Heinrich's chatter was cut off by the loud voice of a man yelling in the middle of the camp.

_Oberst Müller wird an euch alle um 15.00 Uhr sprechen. Zum wiederholen: 1500 Stunden. Sehr wichtig!_

_Colonel Müller will address you all at 1500 hours. Repeat: 1500 hours. Very important!_

Benedikt glanced at Heinrich. "I wonder what that's about."

Heinrich shrugged. "Probably our next assignment. But I hope we're not getting moved very far. We got here right before I left on leave, and I like this area!"

Benedikt laughed and nodded in agreement.

A few hours later, at precisely 1500 hours, Benedikt, Heinrich, and the rest of the unit congregated in the large multi-purpose hall at the center of camp to hear their Colonel address them. The room was abuzz with noise until Oberst Müller stepped onto a few boxes that had been tied together, a small makeshift stage.

"Achtung!" The noise died instantly and everyone in the room snapped to attention. "I have news of our next assignment. Tonight at midnight, we will be relieving the guards for twenty four hours at _Konzentrationslager Buchenwald_ (1)_, _which is a camp very near here. The camp holds more prisoners than any other camp we have been at, and all are very dangerous enemies of our Third Reich. Be ready to move out at 2200 hours. Dismissed."

The German unit filed out of the room. Heinrich seemed pleased. "At least it's something. I couldn't stand doing nothing." Benedikt nodded in agreement.

Late that night, Benedikt scanned the large crowd at the camp's exit. He spotted Heinrich about thirty meters away, and pushed his way towards him, as politely as possible.

"Well, here we go then." Heinrich said to Benedikt as he approached. "Our next great adventure in the German army." Then he lowered his voice and his eyes became serious. "Could be _dangerous." _Benedikt tried to contain his laughter, but failed. After a moment, Heinrich eyes lit up again and he laughed too.

Their walk to _Konzentrationslager Buchenwald _was relatively short and brisk. At around 2330, the unit arrived at the gates of the dimly lit camp. A superior officer, Captain Baehren, then began delegating responsibilities. "Zimmermann! Drexler!" Benedikt and Heinrich shot to attention as Baehren passed them. "Guard duty outside the front gates. First shift, over at 0600 tomorrow."

Heinrich glanced over at Benedikt in pleasure. "What luck! But you better not fall asleep on me, mate." Benedikt scoffed as the two took their places outside the main gates.

In the next five minutes, the crowd thinned out to nothing, leaving only Benedikt and Heinrich outside the camp. They tried to think of anything they could to talk about, to distract them from the biting cold night and to pass the hours.

In the middle of a sentence, Heinrich froze.

"What is it? Do you hear something?" Benedikt asked concerned.

Heinrich raised his hand to silence Benedikt. "Yeah…" By now Benedikt heard a low, rumbling sound. Heinrich took a small breath of relief. "Just a truck." Benedikt audibly breathed out as well. A few seconds later, Heinrich's suspicions were confirmed, and a small truck rolled up to the gates. The driver handed Benedikt a few documents. He squinted to read them in the light of the dim lamp post, but then remembered he had a flashlight. He pulled it out and flicked it on.

After a few moments, Benedikt nodded and handed the papers back to the driver, motioning him to go on. The van simply was transporting new prisoners into the camp.

Heinrich opened the gates and the truck slowly rumbled through. In pure curiosity, Benedikt pointed his flashlight at the back of the transport truck.

His face fell in shock. Heinrich noticed Benedikt staring at the back of the truck with a horrified look on his face. "Ben? What wrong, what is it?"

Benedikt didn't answer. He hadn't heard Heinrich. In the circle of the flashlight Benedikt held was the emotionless, broken face of Hans Becker.

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Sometime in Benedikt's thoughts, the American officer who had captured him, Colonel Hogan, had stormed into the room and demanded he talk. So Benedikt didn't hesitate, he just started from the beginning. When he came to the part about first seeing Hans Becker, he stopped, and started shaking. That was just 24 mere hours ago. How could so much happen in 24 hours? How could a single day ruin his life?

Hogan frowned. "That doesn't explain why you were running." There was a moment of silence. It was all Benedikt could do not to break apart right then. In talking to this German, Hogan softened his tone. Fear was evident in the man's eyes. "Well? Go on then."

Benedikt pulled himself together as best he could. After several deep breaths, he nodded, and went on.

(1) Buchenwald Concentration Camp


End file.
